Armageddon: The prequel to Extinction
by RecklessRedcoat
Summary: Hours before the events of Call of Duty: Extinction, Task Force STALKER are sent to the Point of Contact in Colorado to detonate a nuclear bomb. What they encounter will change them forever, as they are drawn into a tale of conspiracy and the inevitable countdown to Extinction. Following the story of Point of Contact and future DLC episodes in a prequel manner to the game levels.
1. INCOMING TRANSMISSION

**_This is set in the perspective of the previous Extinction squad before Specter 1 (Player's team) Mentioned at the beginning of Point Of Contact. This scene is set in present tense. (Trying to imitate the scenes where it is played out through the recording of a camera.) Enjoy._**

* * *

-_-_-_-_-Audio_Broadcast_012_Incoming-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Capt_Miles_Colbeck_Task_Force_STALKER-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Location_Colorado-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Mission_CLASSIFIED-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Beginning_Transmission-_-_-_-_-

* * *

The camera crackles into life with vicious static, like a swarm of irate bees defending the hive. The static holds briefly, and alongside the buzzing is the faintest voice, scrambled and muffled, but panic was present. Furious banging is heard, as the static begins to clear slowly, showing the combat vest of a man holding the camera. He sighs, satisfied that the static was now mostly clear, mostly. He placed the camera on the extended chassis of a dismantled truck, granting the camera a view of the ransacked street and the blood-red sky that screamed and howled with an unearthly rage.

The man came into view once again, entering from the right of the camera. He came to a small crouch, staring the camera directly in the lens. His face was masked entirely, hidden behind a black balaclava that covered his entire face, save for 2 eye holes. The mask had a sinister leering skull printed into it, the brightest of white, like a chalk white. His eyes were merciless, 2 brown orbs that were standing out from the surrounding visible skin, painted with black camouflage cream. He gave a grunt, gently removing the headset from the side of his head and set it aside. He stares at his feet, almost ashamedly, like he doesn't know where to begin. He slowly inhales, before looking back to the camera, he removes his balaclava, showing his young face, darkened by the black camo cream. His brown hair was messy as it twitches in the warm wind of the town. He speaks with a callous British accent.

"This is Captain Miles Colbeck, ex-42. Commando of the Royal Marines, now of Task Force STALKER. Unofficially; the 'Ghosts.'" He says sternly, reporting the camera with his details, the damaged and limited tech making his voice sound hollow and distorted. His face remains cold, and his jaw locks whilst he continues. "2 weeks ago, the city of San Diego was forced to abandon the reconstruction after the ODIN mishap, and relocate to the state of Colorado, and the other surrounding cities and states upon the news of a large meteor entering the Earth's atmosphere, estimated to strike the city. Disaster struck as it somehow changed course. The meteor crashed into Colorado, killing 33,000 people, and reduced most of the area to rubble: only the outskirts of the Point of Contact were untouched, or rather, less-damaged." He mutters with a slight chuckle, as he runs a gloved hand through his messed, muddy brown hair. "This meteor was analysed by boffins as it descended through our atmosphere, that this thing was rich with heat sources, possible metals and energy to harnessed. Silicon, Osmium and even infinite levels of coal. It was a goldmine." He says, a little louder than necessary, but his smile drops suddenly, his voice turns deathly low, almost like a warning. "…or so we thought." He grabs the camera briskly, turning it to face to his left, and over the building behind his shoulder, climbing relentlessly into the sky, was a large funnel, hundreds of miles wide, a raging tornado that roared, inking the sky black and giving it the crimson hue.

Colbeck turns and points to the funnel, tracing it up and down with a steady forefinger. "That..." he begins, manually zooming the camera in to see the roiling funnel of power. "Somewhere, inside that that thing, is our meteor." The camera crackles violently as the Ghost turns the camera sharply in his direction, locking his eyes with its lens. "It didn't bring metal. It didn't bring power. But it brought something." He stops, biting his lip, genuine fear in his eyes. "Something that wasn't human. And certainly. Not. Friendly. These things…they killed the science parade and military escort in under 2 hours flat, thousands of innocents and soldiers ripped to shreds by what the deranged survivors only referred to as 'aliens.'" He shakes his head in dismay, almost like it was his fault. "The worst thing about it? The military escort had a 20 megaton nuke to be planted at the base of the meteor, destroying it after samples were taken. The president has declared if we can't harness it, we need to destroy it." He backs up slightly, shaking his head briskly, holding up his hands in a defensive manner. "No, no, no, no. They-they deployed it. But the sorry fuckers were eaten before they could arm it. That." He begins, banging his fist on the chassis and destabilising the camera slightly. "Is where I come in. Me and my squad are a team of…'specialists', that have been deployed into the fucking crow's nest to steal the prized egg. And everyone is home. The meteor brought them, and it still is bringing them, miniature shards crashing down and spawning more of these creatures. We are going to stop it. We are the first Extinction squad." He stops briefly, staring past the camera lens upon hearing distant voices and low thuds. These noises were being heard by the camera.

His lips drop slightly, and he faces the camera, desperation clear in his eyes. "Listen! If you receive this recording, DO NOT send backup, repeat! Do NOT send back up! I'm giving clearance for a K.E.M strike should we be announced KIA. We need you to—"

"Boss! BOSS! C'mon captain, we gotta go! Hunters are chasin' us!" A younger soldier says, stumbling into view and panting furiously in a panic, not noticing the camera. He wears a US Army ranger uniform, a tall male Caucasian, bald shaven head, mid-twenties. He wielded a standard issue P226 Colt Pistol. Colbeck nods his head, pulling the worn balaclava over his face before he locks eyes with the Ranger again.

"One sec Bronson. Where's the rest?" He mutters, earning an exasperated gasp from Bronson.

"Err…They're zoning on our location. Come on Captain, NOW!"

"ALRIGHT!" He exclaims, clamping the Ranger's mouth shut and giving him a panicked nod. Colbeck turns back to the camera, beginning to regain slight static. "If you find this, tell my girlfrien-ZZZZZRRRRKKK-I love her. Please." He begs to the screen, the crackling static muted the name he pleaded to send the message to. A shrill warbling comes from behind the camera, causing the duo to stare past the camera. Colbeck begins to pant, slowly and carefully grabbing his MP-443 Grach pistol, snapping the safety cache off the automatic sidearm. The warbling became curious, and the ranger took aim at the mysterious noise, invisible behind the camera's view.

"Oh fuck." Bronson whispered hoarsely, the warbling becoming higher in tone, signifying hostility and frenzied behavior. Colbeck backs away sharply.

"KILL IT! MOVE!" The British Ghost roared, backing away as the screams came closer, distorting the camera's speakers. Thuds and bangs from their pistols are clear yet hollow on the camera, as the 2 soldiers withdraw from the camera's sight. It shakes violently, before tilting brutally, slamming to the ground and cracking the lime screen. Static began to return as a grey creature entered the screen, glowing a vicious scarlet. It turned its ugly head to the left of the camera, and screamed, sprinting out of sight. The camera crackles and whines. Colbeck's panicked voice distorting to an ugly garble.

"Bron-Kil-We -ARRGHafsfkfbs-CCCRRRRKKKKKKKKKKK!"

* * *

…...

-_-_-_-_-TRANSMISSION_LOST-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Status_Report-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Capt_Miles_Colbeck:MIA-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Cpl_Amber_Fox:MIA-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Sgt_Terry_Crossland:MIA-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Pvt_Isaac_Bronson:MIA-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Extinction_Squad_STALKER:MIA-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Send_Support:Point_of_Contact-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Awating_Response-_-_-_-_-

…...

-_-_-_-_-Awating_Response-_-_-_-_-

…...

-_-_-_-_-Awating_Response-_-_-_-_-

…...

-_-_-_-_-Access_Granted-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-Dispatching_Task_Force_SPECTRE_1-_-_-_-_-

-_-_-_-_-END_TRANSMISSION-_-_-_-_-

* * *

_**Chapter 1, Evidently, things have gone to shit. Chapter 2 onwards will be set in past tense like a story and will be playing through the Extinction story line in their eyes, and not the player squad's. Constructive comments and criticisms welcome people. Oh, and when it says Archer' on the characters listed, I mean David Archer from the Extinction story. Hope you enjoyed it!**_


	2. Extinction Squad One

_**Hope you enjoyed Chapter 1, this is now where the events are set in motion. Enjoy.**_

* * *

20 MINUTES EARLIER…

The helicopter roared as the rotor blades chopped and hummed through the air, silently rocking in the wind of the Colorado nightmare. The Pave Low chopper lowly rumbled through the howling maelstrom of Colorado from a low altitude, the side doors were shut, with a dull window in each side, revealing the blood-red tint of the wounded sky to the passengers; not that they seemed to notice. 2 were gossiping amidst themselves, the first one wearing the uniform of a US Ranger. His comrade, the talkative and more colourful soldier was another American. This one had short black hair, in a buzzcut fashion, his skin pigment showed a minor Hispanic relativity, but either way, his humour and language was all too American. The first soldier would politely nod his head to anything his friend said, or rather cursed, before he spoke in a very calm and even nervous manner.

On the other row of seats in the chopper were people far from talkative. One was a young woman; her auburn hair tied in the regulation ponytail. She was laying back, her feet taking up most of the row; this however didn't seem to phase the final soldier only inches away from her tan boots.

This man was a curious sort; he was sat on the bench, hunched over slightly. His left hand was limply resting on his knee, whilst the right was holding a book which the soldier seemed to be lost into entirely, his callous, brown eyes scanning and completely immersed in the pages. The woman didn't open her eyes, but smiled warmly at hearing his weight shuffle on the bench, as he shifted into a more comfortable seating position.

"What'cha reading, Miles?" The woman, Australian accent thick and heavy, purred in a flirtatious manner, eyes still shut. Her lips pulled back, revealing her pearly whites as she got the traditional response from her superior.

"A book." The British soldier murmured, not even sparing her a glance. She cocked her head, and formed a mock pout and put on a pleading voice.

"Pwease. What's it called Miles?" She moaned, once again not earning his eyesight. After moments of holding the last part of her sentence in an irritating drone, he gave a tired sigh. He turned to face her, his head cocked and unimpressed.

"It's called 'Address me as, 'Captain', from now on' Fox." The British soldier grumbled to her. She shook her head whilst chuckling.

"Man, you really ARE no fun are you?"

"Hmph. Too bad, so sad." He replied curtly, further absorbed into the book he gripped. Once again, Fox chuckled, pushing herself off the bench to join the other 2 soldiers. Amber Fox was an Australian student who came to America to live and study. For some reason, she abandoned the study part and took up arms as a US Marine. She was ferociously intelligent for her look and age of 22, and always had a thing for the captain ever since they were thrown together. She pondered what the whole 'Miles' gimmick was. Miles Colbeck was a Second Lieutenant in the for the British Royal Marines. It was only a year or so ago he was volunteered into the elite Task Force STALKER or as they were unofficially known as, 'Ghosts'. He gained the captain rank very quickly, and has a fierce reputation of being a good leader, but a harsh warrior, yet why was he a boring prick all the time?

She never truly pondered this. Of course, her thoughts were back on track when she heard the howling 'Woo!' of a bombastic Crossland, most likely boring, or even frightening the new guy, Bronson.

"So I was all the way across the field, right? Ya know, skating so fast! None of them assholes could catch up to me, hell, I was like a freight train from hell. Stick in hand, I smashed that goddamn puck into the net. Those victory sirens are music to my ears!" Crossland hooted. The Sergeant was a US Navy SEAL, and was in his late twenties. His gung-ho behaviour made him appear much harder and more burlier, but never scarier or more intimidating than Colbeck's silent and mysterious stature. In fact, Terry, on most occasions, just seemed like a colossal prick. Bronson was practically lost, sighing as Crossland's words became blurs as his rapid speech fell upon ears bored and sick of ice hockey. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, as Fox leaned against the chopper wall behind a blabbering Crossland.

"Eh, Terry! Reckon you could shut up? You're gonna kill the kid with boredom before he sees any 'aliens'." She air quoted the last part, changing her voice to a childish tone. This of course only made Terry begin a new line of second-grade humour. Bronson of course, perked up immediately, the childhood Sci-Fi fan shot up to Amber the moment he heard the word 'alien', like a dog when his master says the word 'food'. Isaac Bronson was a young, but an aggressive and fearless Army Ranger. His inexperience however tends his actions towards recklessness, but he has what it takes to be a formidable opponent.

"Wait. Did you just say, aliens?" He asked, voice confused and doubtful. Amber chuckled at his reaction and shrugged her shoulders.

"Yeah. Some kinda hostile presence is in this area, the Point of Contact." She said, moving her fingers up and down in a spooky manner in the last part of her line. Crossland folded his arms and laughed heartedly.

"Yeah, right. Some illegal aliens, couple hundred Mexicans, a few Froggies, hey, maybe even a few Shit-Brits; no offense captain." He said defensively, all heads turned to the captain, stilled glued to the book.

"None taken…(wanker)." He whispered the last part, voice devoid of any emotion. Only Crossland heard the last part, causing him to raise a brow at the captain's insult. He shook his head and resumed talking to the other 2 about the 'alien' situation. Colbeck on the other hand received a call from the cockpit, his free hand shooting to the headset on his left ear. His eyes left the book, staring ahead coldly. Fox noticed this, and they locked eyes momentarily. Colbeck, after a while, stared ahead again. All of a sudden, he nodded his head briskly.

"Right." He muttered through the comms, then immediately clamped his book shut, catching the attention of the bickering Bronson and Crossland, like a judge's gavel slamming down in court. His hand slackened, and he placed the book gently to his left. He rose carefully, pulling a black balaclava over his face, before refreshing on the camo cream fading around his eyes. The other 3 eyeing his every movement, scared he'll lash out at Crossland or something like that once he finished touching up his signature appearance. He stared at Bronson.

"Isaac, open the door." He pointed to him, before to the door behind him. Bronson pointed a finger at himself.

"Me?" And immediately kicked himself mentally. Fox sighed in despair and Crossland snorted in humour, arms still crossed. Colbeck's arm dropped and he cocked his head.

"No. I meant Isaac Clarke right behind you. Yes you, Muppet. Open the door." The sarcastic reply, despite it wasn't aggressive in any way, it still made Bronson jump to. He span on his heel, and grasped the metal lever, pulling the hatch up. The door clicked, and with a heavy grunt, Bronson heaved back.

The Pave Low door slid open, and the squad immediately felt the rush of the Colorado. It beat the stale, crap excuse of oxygen inside the chopper. The squad had a view of a path, almost like a motorway, the steel barrier stopped any cars from driving into the ravine to the left of the chopper. Crossland raised a brow and faced the Captain, noticing the chopper began a slow descent.

"Yo, boss. What we doing here?" Colbeck folded his arms, mirroring Crossland.

"We're deploying outside the Motel, gives us a head start and allows us to move undetected."

"Undetected from what?" Bronson inquired. Neither of the squad didn't need X-ray vision to see the captain was smiling under that Ghost mask of his.

"To your right, you will see where we start. To the left…" He started, as he cranked the lever of the door behind him, hauling the heavy metal door behind him, revealing a disturbing sight to the rest of the team. "…Is our assigned path."

Bronson was speechless, his jaw dropping. Crossland of course silently cursed and Fox's hand went to her mouth in perpetual shock.

"Take a long look people: You're gonna have to get used to it for a few hours now." Colbeck said calmly, not fazed by the sight ahead of them. The city was in a complete state. Any buildings that were still standing were scorched black and crumbling to smoky dust, the dank smell of ozone and scolded rock filled the cabin of the helicopter. Ahead, in front of the entire city, was a large raging funnel that climbed into the sky, covering the land in a fiery hue and inked the sky a smoky black. Crossland pointed a finger at the tornado, if it was ever catalogued on the Fujiyama scale, the bloody thing would have no doubt been an F35.

"What…what the…WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING!" He cried, asking the same question that lingered in the rest of the teams' minds. Colbeck turned to see Bronson's petrified look, and pointed his finger to the funnel.

"That, ladies and gentlemen, is our target. Somewhere, near a nice cosy cabin at the closest point near the PoC is our 20 Megaton bomb. We are going to walk past this Motel, through the city, into the Cabin. Arm the bomb, then haul ass back here. Easy." He said, although it provided zero assurance to the stunned squad mates. He shook his head, before touching his headset. "Pilot, begin our descent." He said clearly into the headset. The almost static reply from a distance was unmistakeably a confirmation, as the squad shuddered uncomfortably as the chopper began to spiral slowly to the ground. Bronson clutched his webbing tightly, wishing he never volunteered for Task Force STALKER, AKA, Extinction One.

* * *

_**The fighting begins next chapter. NOTE: There is NO LASER DRILL ATM, no hives have fully gestated yet. Chapter 3 will be up soon.**_


	3. Test of Mettle

**Still no combat, sorry guys. PROMISE next chapter we'll have first contact.**

* * *

A small bound was taken by Extinction 1 off the helicopter, usually followed by a grunt. The chopper began to ascend at quite a slow pace once its cargo had disembarked. Crossland and Fox were almost captivated, as their earpieces crackled into life, the crisp voice of the pilot echoing into their ears.

"Good luck gentlemen! Time for a bug hunt." He said triumphantly with a chuckle at the end, the Pave Low's rotors whining and climbing into the sky. It roared impressively as it vanished over the leering cliffs and flew away into the sunset, like the ending of a fantasy movie. Fox snorted at the pilot's good wishes, Crossland on the other hand just berated him for being sarcastic, causing Fox to sigh audibly; Captain Asshole had returned. Speaking of captain…

A sharp whistle caught the soldiers attention, who both span on their heels to face behind them, almost symmetrically, to see captain Colbeck waiting patiently, in his signature predatory crouch, to his right, Bronson was laying out quite a small map, luminous red marker visible on the paper, made by the same pen the captain was holding. He shook his hand up and down in a fist. Fox at first thought he was giving them the W-Anchor hand gesture, but her childish part of her mind was banished when she realised it was the double time signal. Sighing in relief, she broke into a small jog, Crossland mirroring her actions. After a few seconds, they were coming to a slow halt by his side. He cleared his throat and the British Ghost spoke clear and fervently; like a true leader.

"Ok Ghosts, we're here," He pointed with a red marker pen to a point on the motorway, he slowly began to trace up, speaking the plan like a GPS of some kind, one that kills and insults. "we make our way to the Motel, here we will make a sit-rep and advance down into the city." Gesturing to a set of ugly black boxes on the map, drawing a circle with the marker. "And finally, we will take THIS alleyway towards this nice and cosy cabin filled with rotting corpses." He tapped on the map, just outside a large black circle which, in reality appeared to dominate miles of the map! "And THAT," He started, taping on the very edged, earning him the suspicious and widened eyes of his team. "Is our bomb." He stared at his team, an unusually large grin plastered to his face. "Any questions?" He asked genuinely, the grin still on his face.

"Yeah. 2 of 'em" Crossland added, his face was nervous but his voice was credibly steady. Colbeck flopped his hand at him and nodded his head, giving him permission to speak, the other 2 turned to face him. "Why in the hell couldn't the Army like, y'know, deploy this bomb at the BASE of the meteor, not on the edge of some cliff near a log cabin?" As much as his somewhat good logic was undeniable, rewarding him with mutters of agreement amidst the group, Colbeck sighed.

"Well, seeing as anything inside this black circle has a gravitational pull of a small planetoid, I think it's safe to say you'd be ripped inside out before you even reached the bottom of the chasm. Hence why the fighter jets sent to destroy it were literally crushed and atomized, pilots too, even after the poor buggers ejected." He muttered in surety, the squad sighing, and Crossland's typical 'Oh fuck me…' were present. "The other question Terry?"

"Yeah. Where's backup?" He said in hope, the other 2 muttering in agreement once again, like a squabbling council. The only thing he got was a confused glare from Colbeck, the Ghost mask projecting his face perfectly, oddly, almost like he just created a new religion and culture on the spot to Colbeck's strongly atheistic face. Crossland gave him a confused stare back of his own. "Backup? Y'know, tanks, choppers, big guns and pew-pew shit?" Colbeck only exhaled derisively, shooting down Terry's hope. When he looked back, he was in 'captain' mode again, the squad now wanting to tread carefully.

"No such thing, Terry. It took us an hour to fly into this airspace and area, the Meteor's gravitational pull, once it extends its effective range, it turns to some kind of EMP aura, comms are scrambled. Ergo; we're on our own." Crossland didn't even swear, neither did the squad say anything. They just froze in horror, they were being sent to their deaths. "But…boss. We're going to die, by aliens, meteors and goddamn nukes!" Miles just stood up, rising from his hunched crouch, drawing an automatic Grach pistol and began to trek up the motorway.

"Yup: just another day on the job." He muttered deeply, the charisma and dry humour earning a nervous giggle from Fox. Bronson shook his head, pulling the P226 from his sash and followed Colbeck, regaining his military bearings. Fox took Crossland's hand, rising to her feet, then allowing her grip to go limp, his hand sliding from hers like she wasn't even there. She drew the pistol of her own, a powerful M9A1 burst pistol. Crossland scratched his head as the squad advanced ahead of him.

"N'arr….shit." He muttered in grief, before drawing his 44. Magnum from the holster on his thigh in a gunslinger fashion. He broke into a short sprint, catching up with his squad, realising this was either going to be a very long day, or a very short day.

* * *

They walked for about an hour now, yet it seemed like 4, and vegetation had only started to appear on the sides of the motorway, the surrounding motorways curved off a while back, leaving the left of the motorway a barrier away from a steep drop down into a ravine; they were getting close. Everyone had seemed to chill out, despite the whole 'Giant Cloud of Impending Doom' business, and Crossland was back to his crappy humorous self. Even though they were practically chilled, there was no conversation going on. In fact you could hear a pin drop down and impact at the bottom of the ravine at this point due to the silence. Colbeck was eyeing every last inch of the highway, a death grip unrelenting on his pistol. He grimaced inwardly as he heard Crossland appear by his side almost, and crack a joke, desperate from some interaction from him.

"Damn, this place is freezing!" He muttered obnoxiously, noticing Fox's lips pull up in a smirk and Bronson too. Colbeck just gave him a mock disgusted look.

"What do you want me to do? Fetch your slippers and make coffee for you?" Crossland gave him a pleading look, and reasoned with him.

"Oh gee, would you sir? That would be great." He said genuinely, Colbeck turned on his heel to face him directly and acted the whole coffee making process, mocking the bejeezuz out of Terry.

"Sure, how you take the coffee? Black? Latino? Couple a cubes of 'Kiss my ass'?" The entire squad chuckled at his remark, hell, even Crossland found the insulting challenge funny. He continued the joke though, attempting to seize the last word. Fox was still admiring the captain's response. '_So he DOES have a sense of humour after all._' She mused in her head.

"Offer still on about the slippers?" Colbeck dangerously closed the short distance between them, before raising his middle finger for all to see, before pulling the blackened lower lid of his right eye down.

"Look into my eye." He muttered in a challenging and deep voice, taking a huge dump on the so-called tough USMC sergeant's. He released the finger off his eye, the lid shooting back up, before continuing with the walk. He was stunned, mouth agape in grin, like a giddy child as his other comrades passed him. Fox childishly stuck her tongue out at him as she passed, then Bronson came by his side.

"Man, captain made you look like. Hmm…how do the British call it, oh yeah; a twat!" He chuckled and sped off to catch up with Fox. Crossland, after a while, shook his head and laughed heartedly, before flipping the safety on his magnum, and caught up with his comrades.

The vegetation was more obvious and dominant, as Colbeck began to realise the highway was coming to an abrupt end, with a sharp turn off. Ahead of him was a sign, carved out of wood and dully lit with failing light bulbs, but the advertisement was clear and he gave a sigh of pleasure. The Motel was dead ahead, most likely around this bend.

"Alright kiddies. We're here." He said, twisting his body to face his team as they closed the distance behind him. Fox started chuckling and Bronson was taken aback.

"Well, I'll be damned…" he muttered triumphantly, like a beacon of hope was lit inside of him. Crossland gave a low whistle as he slowed behind Fox.

"Nice. Maybe we could rent a room for two, eh, Amber?" He flirted indiscreetly, sounding off a groan from Colbeck in front and Bronson rolling his eyes. Amber on the other hand smirked, yet Crossland was oblivious to the flushing in her cheeks.

"Maybe. In a thousand years." She slyly retorted, getting a taunting 'Ooooo!' From Bronson. Crossland of course, never missed the trick.

"So it's still a date, yeah? Be my genuine pleasure." Bronson made a mocking wretch sound in the background and Colbeck made a noise at the back of his throat, like trucks rolling over tarmac, evidently bored shitless of this type of flattering. Fox on the other hand spared him a glance, a promising glint in her hazel eyes. One thing she admired, was Crossland knew how to charm a girl like her.

"Yeah Terry, you got a date." She winked at him, and he sighed happily. Bronson put on a mock voice that sounded like his lungs were crushed.

"Jesus, I think I just threw u-" Bronson's slating was abruptly cut short at the sound of screeching metal, like an iron banshee, freezing the squad in their tracks. It had the same effect of nails on a chalkboard, cutting through the squad and causing the occasional discomforted grunt. They drew themselves into a tight circle, sighting every corner and angle with their sidearms." "Jeez. What in the world?" Bronson muttered.

"Quiet." Colbeck rasped in a harsh whisper, clamping his jaw shut. Nothing. Absolutely nothing, it had just stopped. Dead silence was rooming the air, nothing but the wind and the occasional rustle of their clothing and combat gear. They remained for a few minutes, before Crossland began to get bored. Rapidly bored. He yawned obnoxiously, relaxing his aim on his pistol. Bronson and Fox turned their gazes to him, Colbeck however, being the stoic and stone cold bastard, kept his eyes fixed firmly on his sights.

"Well, tonight has been very fun. But I call supreme bulls-" The screeching returned louder than ever, the squad clutching their ears in agony, as Colbeck turned to see the horror above them mid-groan. Hanging by a thread over the rocky ledge, was a ginormous double-decker school bus, the yellow paint now faded and ugly like pale vomit, and was falling cabin first onto the road. Given the angle the road was at, the bus would fall down, taking some of the ledge with it as burly projectiles, and sweep the dumbstruck squad to kingdom come, or most likely, flatten them into a large bloody stain. They all had the same ideas, and such, began to voice the shared mentality, Bronson first, then Crossland, Fox and finally Colbeck.

"Ho-"

"-ly,"

"Shit!"

* * *

"RUUUUUUUN!" He barked, the very scream kicking the squad into immediate action, their legs moving in unison like pistons in an engine. Every last ounce of muscle and energy was forced into their legs, propelling them into a panicked and desperate sprint. Every step was like a climb up Kilimanjaro, their legs aching rapidly as they raced for their lives up the steep motorway against the falling bus. Yet they spurred on; they had too. Colbeck was roaring through gritted teeth, Fox panting furiously and Crossland was making amends and prayers to Jesus, Buddha and possibly every deity to ever exist. Colbeck was sure amidst the screeching chaos he heard the name Charles Manson mentioned. What?

"C'mon! GET TO THE OTHER SIDE! THE CAR! HEAD FOR THE CAR!" The captain cried, pointing his finger viciously to an abandoned crimson Hyundai, lying dead and forgotten on the road. They could taste the smell of sweat and the electrified air, the safe area of the Motel in site, their goal now clear. Then disaster struck.

'Umpffh!' Bronson emitted, as his boot slipped on a shard of glass, causing him to crash down to the floor face first and discombobulating the Ranger, the impact putting considerable distance between him and the rest of his fleeing squad. Fox and Crossland made a desperate bound past the safety of the car, well out of the reach of the bus's nose. Colbeck followed suit. Catching their breath and relaxing with thunderous panting. Crossland and Fox gave glances to one another, and pulled each other into each other's embrace, laughing heartedly amidst their frantic panting. Bronson began to weep as he rose to a clumsy stand and began to run again, finding the energy in his legs spent; he wasn't going to make it.

"We made it! I can't believe me made it!" Terry cried, Fox giggling as they loosened their grip on each other. Colbeck of course, was solitary, the Ghost stood proud, like a lion defending his pride, his body rocking with heavy gravelly inhales and pants of fury and success. They only began to notice the panicked cries in the distance, the sound of exhausted pleas for help collapsing into noises of mercy. The most terrified feeling climbed into Amber's mind, then crawled out of her mouth.

"Where's Isaac?" She hoarsely whispered, her eyes wide with fear, like a deer in headlights. Colbeck turned his head in unison with his team down the motorway, his brows furrowing in anger and revelation, as the bus began its violent slip down the slope.

"Oh fucking Christ…" Crossland muttered, dry as a bone.

"Dammit…" Miles growled at the site of Isaac, stumbling to his team, a mixture of howls and cries and curses at the fruitless attempt to save his own life. Fox and Crossland crossed gazes.

"Terry, what do we do?" The look she got was one of hopelessness, followed by crushing shake of the head. The realisation dawned on her that Bronson was soon to be lost, when, like marching thunder, came the sound of boots leaving their vicinity. He was gone before they could register his presences, Colbeck shooting off towards Bronson like a black bolt of lightning. Fox lazily bent round the corner, reaching for the Ghost as he raced down the highway towards the lost comrade, but he was already gone, an unearthly energy spurring him at a rapid pace.

"Oh my God! CAPTAIN! DON'T DO THIS!" Crossland roared after him, his words having zero effect as Colbeck raced out of the frying pan, and willingly charged into the fire.

Of all the missions he had carried out, solo and teamwork regardless, marching into hell's half acre with only a sidearm, much like this scenario, this time, Miles Colbeck was scaring himself to find time AND his strength was not on his side. The only thing aiding him was gravity and the gradient of the highway. Blood rumbled in his ears with every furious step, the details of Bronson's dirt-slicked face coming clearer with every bounding stamp of his boots on the tarmac. Isaac slipped once again, this time out of fatigue, and reached out with a quaking hand, like a man floundering for air at the bottom of the ocean. The lasts stretch, he was so close now; Colbeck dropped down into a slide, his weight and the steepness guiding him into Bronson's hand, grasping his wrist brutally and hoisting him to his feet. Bronson's half-lidded eyes locked with Colbeck's furious determination.

"ON YOUR FEET SOLDIER! WE. ARE. LEAVING!" The merciless bark stabbed needles of hope into Bronson's legs, jolting him to his feet. Colbeck hoisted Isaac's limp right arm around his shoulder, securing him and taking the vast majority of his weight unto himself.

"Can you walk?" He asked genuinely, an odd softness in his usually ice cold voice. Bronson shakily nodded his head.

"Ye-yes sir. I can wal-" There was a horrible crunch, drawing the much unwanted attention of Colbeck and Isaac. They both stared up to see the bus had begun to shift violently, the overhanging rock giving way with a crash, the bus slammed nose first onto the highway, taking its weight with it and causing it to slowly descend down. Colbeck silently swore and tightened his grip on Bronson, earning him a worried look.

"Whoa, whoa, sir. What are you doing? I can barely walk!" He cried, the captain not looking to him but rather staring ahead at the crying and pleading Crossland and Fox begging for them to return.

"They invented something back in the 80's it's called 'running' you're gonna love it." He said nonchalantly, evidently with a smirk underneath his mask. Bronson furrowed his brows.

"Fuckin' hilarious, but I can only run if the situation calls for it." With that, the bus's entire body slammed noisily down onto the road, gravity aiding its now increasing plummet towards them.

"Trust me. It calls for it." He muttered, and broke into a somewhat steady sprint. The rapid change of pace felt like a storm of knives plunged into Bronson's legs, causing him to howl but inevitably comply. Now GRAVITY and the angle weren't on his side, 4 handicaps equalled a fucking low chance of success. '_But by God, any chance I'm bloody well taking it!_' Colbeck screamed aloud in his head, his blood thundering in his ears, his heart crashing and pounding like a piston jackhammer. They were getting closer by the second, the trek up Kilimanjaro now turned to a continuous sprint marathon up Olympus Mons.

"COME ON!" Colbeck screamed in a voice that could have reduced glass to dust, boosting Isaac's morale and electrifying him with hope. The bus was swinging like a pendulum, a vicious swinging metal mass that was going to pulverise the duo in a matter of seconds. Colbeck wagered they had around 10. If that. He could now hear the sweet voice of Amber Fox calling for them, begging them to make it. This was the last bound, the bus's tail was moments away from smashing Colbeck in half.

"Ready private?" Colbeck cried, Bronson whimpered and shook his head violently, a trembling negative.

"THEN JUMP!" He howled, propelling himself with every last bit of strength focused into his legs. Bronson cried as the bus's tail swung mere inches away from them, swearing to himself he could feel the air being cut into like a chainsaw through butter. The bus ripped past them, or was it the other way around? It mattered not, they made it. Just. They crashed bodily into the road beside the car, the bus turning perfectly horizontal and wedging itself in between the barrier and the Cliffside, sealing off the route they came whilst the echo of destroyed cars and debris rumbled down the sealed off highway.

* * *

Colbeck and Bronson were splayed out, their body's quaking with fatigue, their lungs stripped bare of oxygen and desperate to regain the precious air. Fox screamed and rushed to their sides, her voice turned into incoherent babbling and noises of happiness. Crossland was laughing the entire way over, the duo going to Bronson's side and checking the young Ranger for any injury.

"Shave my head, wax my legs and use me as a surfboard! You're alive!" Usually, Bronson would have pimp-handed Crossland for his choice of surprised words, but right now he was just happy to be alive. He laughed hazily with a wheeze, his body temp cooling as Fox wrapped her arms around him. He heard her sniffling slightly but paid no mind. Crossland vanished like the wind, tending to his Ghost captain.

"Damn! Colbeck, sir! You okay man?" His vice high with angst and concern. Colbeck hacked violently, before lifting the Ghost mask from his head, revealing his young British face to the cool Colorado air. He puckered his lips and gave Terry the thumbs up, before his head slapped to the tarmac. Crossland nodded in acknowledgement and laid down, oddly exhausted himself. He felt a familiar weight shift onto him t find amber lying on his chest, wrapping her arms around him. Silence roamed, until a dark British voice piped up a blunt truth.

"I fucking HATE public transport." Colbeck quietly droned, the tired laughs of his squad echoing in his mind. Finding himself spent for now, Colbeck shut his eyes, and welcomed the clutches of sleep.

* * *

**Rate, review and standby for Chapter 4**


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